


Mycroft Holmes Is Pissed

by scarletmanuka



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Mycroft Holmes, Established Polyamorous Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Mycroft To The Rescue, Polyamory, Sherlock and Greg in danger, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-31 01:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12121581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/pseuds/scarletmanuka
Summary: Sherlock and Greg get kidnapped, and Mycroft is pissed.





	Mycroft Holmes Is Pissed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyGlinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/gifts), [Tikatikox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikatikox/gifts).



When Greg regained consciousness the first thing he noticed was the jackhammer pounding away at the base of his skull. The second was that he was tied to a chair in some damp, dank basement. The third was that he wasn’t alone.

Several feet away and tied to his own chair was Sherlock. The tall genius was slumped over and blood was dripping from a wound on his temple. Greg rocked the chair and found it wasn’t attached to the ground so by lifting his weight and rocking it even more he managed to hop it across the intervening space so he was closer to the younger man. His head screamed in protest but he ignored it, worry churning in his gut at seeing Sherlock in such a state. He couldn’t reach for him but he extended his leg and nudged at his calf. “Sherlock? Can you hear me? You need to wake up, babe.”

It took a few more tries but eventually the genius began to stir. Dark lashes fluttered against the too pale skin of his cheeks and then slowly those glorious blue-green eyes were opening. He looked at the DI in a daze, and it took a frightfully long time for comprehension to dawn in his eyes. “Greg?” he asked, his voice croaking.

“Hey, there you are! Welcome back to the land of the living, Sunshine.”

“What happened?” He was looking around the room now but he was still confused and Greg’s gut clenched in worry. Head injuries for anyone were bad but he knew how much Sherlock valued his brain. If he suffered any permanent damage it would destroy him.

“It looks like Lombardi finally took notice that we were investigating the deaths of his men and it seems he took offense.”

Greg couldn't be sure how much of what he said registered with the Consulting Detective. Sherlock was looking at him but he didn't seem to be listening, he was _looking_. “You’re hurt,” he said finally.

He’d felt the liquid trickling down his face but he hadn’t been sure if it was blood or sweat. “I’m fine, babe. I’m more worried about you. You’re hurt, too,” he added when Sherlock looked at him in confusion.

“Oh.” He then started to giggle and Greg’s forehead wrinkled as he looked on in concern. Sherlock took a deep breath after his giggles finally died away. “Mycroft is going to be _pissed_ ,” he explained.

“Yeah, I can just see him swooping in and having his team take over the investigation. Sally is going to be so mad.”

The genius smirked and gave a small shake of his head, looking much more himself. “No, you don’t understand, Greg. This is going to tip him over the edge. Lombardi hasn’t just threatened us, but he’s kidnapped us, and hurt us, and it’s not just one of us - it’s the two people my brother loves more than life itself. Mycroft is going to come for us and Lombardi won’t know what hit him. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”

Greg didn’t say anything to this, and Sherlock didn't seem to expect an answer, confident as he was in his prediction. It wasn’t that Greg _doubted_ what the youngest Holmes brother said their lover would do - he knew for a fact that Mycroft was a dangerous man - but he was having a hard time correlating the picture Sherlock wove and his own memories of the man. Perhaps it was because he was so used to seeing the diplomat open and vulnerable, letting himself go in a wash of trust and pleasure. Mycroft was the one who grounded them, who would bicker constantly with Sherlock even as he wiped him clean with a flannel, and then gathered all three of them together in one big tangle of limbs and torsos into what the DI called their ‘snuggle pile’. He made sure Sherlock ate regular meals, would read to Greg when his insomnia got the worst of him, and he’d curse politely when his baby brother beat him at Operation only to demand a rematch (which he would invariably lose, but only because Greg teamed up with Sherlock and distracted the diplomat with sneaky kisses and surprise gropings). He’d seen him organise a counter-terrorism strike from the bedroom when he was sick with tonsilitis, had comforted him when Sherlock had been hurt on a case, and had gotten into screaming matches with him about leaving empty coffee cups on the coffee table (‘ _It’s called a coffee table for a reason, Myc!’_ ). None of this seemed to add up to the look of grim satisfaction and _anticipation_ that Sherlock was wearing, but what else could Greg do but wait and see what happened?

He lost track of time, but they must have been there for hours. Periodically either Lombardi or his men would come in to taunt them, or strike them, or threaten them. They would drag Greg’s chair back to where it had been only to return and find he’d hopped it back over to Sherlock. They stopped moving it after a while, obviously recognising he couldn’t escape and that he was now doing it just to annoy them. When they were alone, Greg and Sherlock would twine their ankles together, taking comfort from the contact, and when the men barged into the room, they would break apart and pretend they were nothing more but colleagues. They didn’t speak much, neither man wanting to push through the pain in their heads just to make idle conversation, but they’d long ago grown comfortable with silence between them. It was a shit situation to be in but Greg was glad he was in it with Sherlock.

More time passed and then in the distance they heard a crash and the sounds of a commotion. “Finally,” Sherlock almost purred in satisfaction.

They listened to the shouts, and the thump of boots on concrete of men running, and the unmistakable sounds of a fight. “He must have brought the whole cavalry with him,” Greg mused, ears cocked to hear all he could.

Sherlock laughed. “He only brought who he needed.”

There were more sounds - cries of pain, shouts of surprise, barked orders. It felt like it lasted for an eternity but in reality only fifteen minutes had passed. The door was thrown open and Mycroft stalked inside, his pale blue eyes blazing. He was still wearing the three piece suit he’d donned that morning, except for the jacket. One sleeve was torn and there was blood smeared across the fine grey fabric of the waistcoat. He held a knife in one hand but other than that and his glare, he was unarmed. The tension in his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly when he saw that both his lovers were alive. “Sherlock, Gregory,” he greeted them, as if he’d just walked in the door at home after he’d finished work for the day.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock drawled. “Took you long enough.”

“Apologies, brother dearest. It took a while to track you down.” He crossed to the chairs and began to saw at the ropes tying Sherlock’s hands. Before the knife disappeared from view, Greg had seen the blade was covered in blood.

There was movement in the doorway and three men ran into the room. Greg shouted a warning but Mycroft was already moving. He threw himself onto the ground, rolling between their feet and coming up behind them. In one swift move he had pulled the knife taut across the throat of one of the men, leaving a gaping red smile behind. The man gurgled and dropped to his knees, clutching at his throat as his life bled away. The other two men rushed Mycroft but the diplomat faced them easily, trading blows and blocking punches, his hands a blur of motion. One long leg kicked out and connected with the chest of the taller of the two men, sending him sprawling backwards against the wall. He collided with a thump and they could hear the air forced from his lungs. Turning his full attention back to his other opponent, Mycroft blocked the fist that was swinging towards his face, grabbing hold of the man’s wrist and then jabbing forwards with his free hand, striking his windpipe. He then twirled under the man’s arms almost as if they were partners in a dance, coming up behind him and wrapped an arm around his neck. With one swift jerk, he snapped the man’s neck and he fell to the floor in a lifeless heap.

The tall man had regained his breath and charged at Mycroft, but he sidestepped him and kicked the back of his knee, sending him staggering onto the floor. Their lover leapt, pinning the man down, his knife plunging into the space between ribs with unerring precision. He wiggled the knife backwards and forwards and the man stopped moving as the blade found his heart. Leaving the knife lodged in the man’s back, Mycroft got back to his feet, breathing harder than normal but looking completely nonplussed. He came back over to where his partners were still tied to their chairs, Greg with his mouth hanging open in shock and awe, and Sherlock with a look of utter adoration and lust. He ducked down and pulled a smaller blade from a sheath at his ankle and then calmly began cutting through his brother’s bonds as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all.

As soon as Sherlock was freed he jumped to his feet and pulled Mycroft in for a filthy kiss. Greg never tired of watching the brothers together and so he enjoyed the show whilst keeping one eye on the door for any stray attackers. Eventually they broke apart, and Sherlock’s whole body was trembling. “When we get home…” He didn’t finish, instead his eyes closed and his whole body shuddered and Greg startled as he realised Sherlock had just orgasmed.

“Really, brother mine,” Mycroft chided him with a smirk. “There’s a time and a place.” He touched his cheek briefly and then turned to Greg. He leaned down and kissed him, his tongue flicking inside teasingly. “Are you just as excited to see me, Gregory?” he asked with an arched brow.

Greg laughed and nodded over his shoulder. “Untie me and you’ll find out.”

It was the work of but a moment and he arms were free and the DI accepted the hand offered him as he was pulled to his feet. He smiled at Mycroft but crossed immediately to Sherlock, taking his face in his hands and gently examining his temple. “We need to get you checked over, babe,” he muttered, not at all happy with the deep gash. “I think you’ll need stitches.”

“I need a change of underwear first,” he said, grinning stupidly.

Mycroft joined them and wrapped his arms around both of them. This close Greg could smell the blood and sweat on his lover. “I think you _both_ require medical attention. An ambulance will be arriving shortly no doubt.” He placed a hand on the small of their backs and then guided them from the room and towards the exit of the building.

They were in an empty office complex and as they maneuvered through the maze of cubicles and desks, Greg’s eyes widened as he took in the carnage. “How many?” he asked, averting his eyes from a particularly gruesome corpse.

“Twelve,” Mycroft replied succinctly. “Lombardi is the only one left alive. I know how much you want to see him brought to justice so I’ve left him in a state fit to stand trial.”

The DI could only nod, too shocked to do anything else. A hand reached out and linked with his and he looked over to see Sherlock smirking at him. “I told you he was pissed.”

Greg laughed. “Yeah, you did, didn't you, Sunshine.” He shook his head in wonder and pulled them to a stop before they left the building and got within sight of the emergency responders they could hear arriving outside. He pulled them close, pressing kisses to two pairs of plush lips. “Remind me never to piss you off, Myc,” he murmured.

Mycroft grinned, dark and dangerous. “Let’s have a talk about coffee cups, dear Gregory.”

Sherlock’s laughter drowned out the sounds of the sirens outside and Greg pulled Mycroft in for another kiss, happier than he’d ever been to have both of these amazing men in his life.

 


End file.
